


echoes of the past (broke the hearts of the unborn)

by aurorstorm



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, FTL, Gen, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorstorm/pseuds/aurorstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina knows blood. She has seen it flow from gaping wounds on soldiers, from animals hunted for their flesh and from her own body each month since the eve of her fourteenth year. But this blood that seeps through her nightgown and stains her bedclothes - this sea of red does not represent victory or womanhood; rather, her failure at both.</p>
<p>(A contribution to the generally accepted 'fanon' that Regina lost a child during her years married to King Leopold.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	echoes of the past (broke the hearts of the unborn)

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my amazing beta, Coleen (aposse on tumblr), for her invaluable help.

Regina's handmaiden remarks, "My lady, two moons have passed and you have not bled."

 

For the first time in years, Regina feels hope.

 

 

 

As the days pass and her belly begins to swell, the King looks at her with a new affection in his eyes. Regina knows he is excited at the prospect of an heir, and Snow is eager for a child on whom she can lavish her affection.

 

She is proud to finally be fulfilling her role as a wife and a Queen, yet still she lies awake at night, plagued with the fear that she will become the same kind of mother she has suffered under for all these years. Regina vows to the child she carries that she will raise them with the love that had always evaded her, and give them the happiness that she had been forbidden.

 

By day, Regina walks with a newly found sense of grace and purpose, a hand resting on her abdomen at every moment. She is desperate to feel something - anything - from her child, but there is nothing. She tells herself it is still early days, and her fretting is unfounded.

 

 

 

And then one night, there is pain.

 

And blood.

 

Regina knows blood. She has seen it flow from gaping wounds on soldiers, from animals hunted for their flesh and from her own body each month since the eve of her fourteenth year. But this blood that seeps through her nightgown and stains her bedclothes - this sea of red does not represent victory or womanhood; rather, her failure at both.

 

She shrinks back against the headboard, clutching at her abdomen with one hand and scrabbling at the linen with the other, throwing the soiled material as far away as possible. "Help!" she shrieks. "Somebody, help me!"

 

The doors to her chamber are swung open and a pair of guards rush in, only to immediately recoil at the sight before them. Slowly, the guards back away - a luxury Regina does not have - and are replaced by half a dozen of Regina's personal staff.

 

“Send for a doctor,” she cries as they rush to her side, wringing their hands in concern.

 

The oldest woman shakes her head sadly. “There is nothing to be done,” she says. “The child is already lost.”

 

Really, Regina knows this to be true, but to hear it said aloud is like a knife to the chest.

 

 

 

They stay by her side until the break of dawn. Throughout the torturous hours, they hold her hands, wipe her sweat, and clean up the blood and tissue and god knows what else she passes until it runs dry. Regina lets them carry her defeated, naked form to the bath, feeling as though she drifts behind, somehow removed in spirit from the cursed body that has robbed her of her child.

 

Once she is dressed and tucked away in her bed (re-made with crisp new linen, but Regina can still feel the blood, taunting her relentlessly), she dismisses them with a wave of her hand and whispered words: "Leave me. Please."

 

 

 

She remains in her chamber for three days and three nights.

 

At first, her staff bring meals to her, but remove them untouched for fear of attracting vermin. Regina doesn't feel the stabs of hunger or the aches and stiffness in her joints. She doesn't feel anything at all.

 

There are no visitors to pull her from the ocean of numbness. Whether it is out of the pain of loss, or the humiliation of her failure, Regina isn't sure, but her king and his princess cannot (or will not) face her. Undoubtedly, word has spread throughout the kingdom of the loss of the child. Perhaps they sent gifts, Regina muses. Perhaps they are praying for her. To what avail? The gods have never shown her any mercy.

 

They have taken her love, her freedom, her future, and now her child.

 

 

 

On the third night, there is a visitor.

 

Regina hardly registers the crack or the slight puff of smoke - in fact, she only realises her mother's presence when she finds herself pulled out of bed and forced into a standing position by invisible strings, like some kind of grotesque puppet.

 

"My my," Cora mutters, clicking her tongue. "What have you done to yourself, dear?"

 

Regina finds herself unable to reply, not because of a magical constraint, but from the dryness of her throat. She chokes on her own spit, and Cora laughs without mercy before letting her daughter drop to the ground.

 

"You're pathetic." Cora sneers, circling Regina's crumpled form on the stone floor. The echo of her boots pounds like a drum in Regina's head, and she fights to keep consciousness as everything becomes fuzzy around the edges.

 

"You have failed me once again," Regina hears, "as a daughter, a Queen, and a mother."

 

Regina cringes, awaiting a blow that never comes, but that a part of her craves (and will always crave). She'll never be good enough. Not for anyone. She has lost her last chance to prove her worth; lost it that shameful, blood-stained night.

 

"I'm sorry," she croaks, but she doesn't really know who she's apologising to. "I tried. I'm so sorry."

 

"You didn't try hard enough," Cora snarls. She hauls Regina upwards with a casual wave of her hand, this time so that she hovers inches above the floor, limbs slumping ungainly. Another flippant gesture, and Regina is dressed for court from head to toe. She wheezes and coughs as the corset laces itself tighter around her frail chest and tender, hunger-swollen belly.

 

"Get out there and act like the Queen I made you, dear," Cora says. Her gaze rakes over Regina's body, disgusted with what she sees. "Try to hold on to our last shreds of dignity."

 

The doors to her chambers are thrown open, and Regina finds herself pushed through them by unseen forces. When she turns to protest, her mother has disappeared.

 

 

 

Regina stumbles through the halls, and guards rush to catch her before she falls to the floor once more. "Take me to them," she mumbles, and they have no choice but to obey her orders.

 

They march her to the dining hall and deposit her gently in the chair to the right of the King's. The room is empty, but moments later, Leopold and Snow enter, chatting intimately. They freeze momentarily at the sight of Regina, but take their usual seats as they murmur greetings.

 

They talk of feasts, of battles, of knights and of the day's activities while Regina sits in silence.

 

They do not speak of their loss that is inherently hers.

 

They will not meet her eye.

 


End file.
